


Nothing is anything without you

by Lestradesexwife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Relationship, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, POV Multiple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's bored. John's horny (that's always though.) Greg's working.</p><p>The boys plan something for Greg to come home to. A nice warm welcome after a long day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing is anything without you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_xmasmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/gifts), [pangodillO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangodillO/gifts), [consulting_smartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/gifts).



They plan it out, as far as they can. They don't really know what Greg will do when he gets home, but they can lay down the groundwork and see what comes of it. He's been working on a case, and since they are living all together now Greg's not allowed to have Sherlock come in on cases anymore. Which doesn't stop Sherlock from snooping in any of the files Greg brings home, it just stops him from turning up at crime scenes, and at the Yard, and sometimes at the morgue. Sherlock tried to argue that the morgue at Bart’s was first and foremost his purview. Greg had for the most part agreed with him, allowing that Sherlock’s work brought him there on legitimate errands, which didn’t change the fact that it was necessary to keep Sherlock away from even the appearance of accidental tampering with Greg’s cases.

This doesn't sit well with Sherlock and for a while it causes considerable strife between the three men, with John in the middle and desperately trying to avoid taking sides. A peace treaty of sorts is struck when Greg points out that he's the only one of them with a steady pay cheque and that Sherlock has a penchant for fancy sex toys off the internet.

Sherlock still deduces most of his cases from the state of Greg's tie, or lack thereof, when he comes home. At least now John can distract him if they don't have a case of their own on.

They don't have a case on at the moment and Sherlock has declared Greg's current case a mere two, not worthy of even trying to interfere on. The papers are dull, television appalling, experiments and even the violin uninteresting.  So it may be self-defence when John texts Greg at lunch and asks him to text when he leaves the Yard. Greg’s scheduled to be home in time for supper, barring any major developments during the day.

Sherlock is in possession of John's phone when it dings with the text from Greg saying he's leaving the office. John licks his lips at the sound of Greg's text alert and looks up from the book he's been pretending to read for the last half hour or so. Even Sherlock has been distracted, twiddling John's phone in his long fingers, careful to not touch any of the buttons in case he somehow manages to turn off the ringer or drain the battery.

They move in slow motion. Sherlock sends back a message to Greg, a simple acknowledgement and "See you soon, SH" before setting the phone down gently on the side table next to his chair. He stares at it for a moment longer, as though willing it to somehow turn into a dimensional portal to bring Greg home sooner.

John stands up and heads to their bedroom; he can feel air passing through his nose and into his lungs, knows that he isn't panting. But they've been planning this for the better part of the day, and planning it without actually _doing it_ has been torture. He feels like he's been hard for hours, possibly days, every nerve tingling with warmth and desire.

The texture of the knob on the nightstand drawer feels obscene and he draws in a breath through his mouth. _Lube, I came in here for lube_ he reminds himself as he stares at the drawer full of Sherlock's toys. The bottle is near the top of the drawer and he manages to remove it without touching any of the carefully-indexed toys.

By the time he gets back into the sitting room Sherlock has moved his chair, angled it towards the sofa. Sherlock is careful about it; the position of objects inside his mind palace, and hence in the physical world, has connotations and ramifications that John doesn’t fully understand. John only knows that once Sherlock moved the chair it isn’t Sherlock's anymore, it became Greg's.

**  
  
**

Sherlock tests out different positions on the sofa, trying to find the best one… the one that will give Greg the best line of sight on them. Sherlock settles and looks up at John. "It's only been two and a half minutes."

John crosses to Greg's chair and stares at it for a moment, trying to figure out the best place to put the lube… not wanting it to look like a cheesy porno, but also sort of wanting it to look like a cheesy porno. He settles for standing the bottle near the back of the small table, visible but not standing out too much amongst the other clutter.  

John turns back to look at Sherlock. "When do you want to start?"  

Sherlock checks his own phone. He has some sort of Mycroftian traffic app on his phone that is terrifyingly accurate at predicting traffic patterns and arrival times. "Assuming he texted from the office, we need to wait another seven and a half minutes."

John makes a small, impatient noise in the back of his throat and sways slightly towards Sherlock, but otherwise remains rooted in spot beside Greg's chair.

At three minutes, John moves to stand by the window, needing something to look at that isn’t Sherlock vibrating out of his skin in anticipation. Even though their plan doesn't involve waiting until Greg actually pulls up, so there’s nothing to stop them from starting now... maybe the house across the street will explode again and John… _no…_ that's not actually helping. The shiver of fear that runs down his spine kicks his adrenaline up a notch and his cock twitches in his pants. _Think about something else_. "Where is Mrs. Hudson?"

"Cards with Mrs. Turner. She should be just about to fleece several college students out of their tuition."

John smirks slightly; he'd learned in the first month not to play for more than bridge mix with Mrs. Hudson. He almost feels sorry for the college boys, but perhaps they will learn a lesson in not underestimating older women.

He watches traffic, that is not and cannot be Greg coming home, for what feels like eternity, until the street blurs into a long exposure of black cabs and pedestrians.

It has to have been more than seven and a half minutes when Sherlock finally, finally says, "John."

John turns his head and shows admirable restraint in only looking at Sherlock for a moment. In watching as Sherlock sets his phone down on the coffee table and leans back, in remaining motionless until Sherlock looks up and meets his eyes, in walking across the room, instead of merely leaping through the air. It is probably for the best that Sherlock is already sitting, that he has already located the perfect spot from which to be viewed by Greg. He wouldn't bother with such trivial things as walking _around_ the coffee table, especially not the long way round. John makes allowances for Sherlock's vanity, knowing that he's chosen not only the best angle on Greg's chair, but also on the door. John Watson will even sit with his back turned to the door, if it means that he'll be snogging Sherlock Holmes into the sofa when Greg Lestrade walks through the door of their flat.

He licks his lips again as he settles into the curve of Sherlock's arm. Very chaste, just the lightest of touches along John's shoulder, the angle of their knees making a small V on the sofa cushions. They have to do this slowly, they want to be… they want to… when Greg gets home, they need to obviously have been waiting for him, but they can't wait until he gets home to start. He needs to see what the _idea_ of him coming home and finding them does to them.

"Hi." John smiles as he leans forward, doesn't move in immediately for a kiss, just closes the space between them until their foreheads are resting together. "How are you?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, even though they are too close together for John to appreciate the full effect of Sherlock's "John, you are being ludicrous" face and picks up John's left hand, pushing it meaningfully against Sherlock's crotch to feel the long, hard line of Sherlock's cock.

The air goes out of John's lungs in something between a laugh and a moan, and that's all it takes for them to be kissing.

Kissing Sherlock isn’t something John thought a lot about before they actually started doing it, and it is always a bit surprising that Sherlock tolerates it. The idea of Sherlock as physically affectionate in this way… seemed impossible. When John thought about it, before they started doing it, he thought it would all be rough, against walls and over tables and quick, utilitarian. Sherlock as a lover should be all means to an end.

There is a point to which John thinks Sherlock is still experimenting, still learning, John has to remind himself that some or all of this is new for Sherlock. The first tentative kisses, explorations of John’s jaw line with fingers and lips, sampling the taste of John’s earlobe. But they eventually reach a point where Sherlock finishes cataloging… or rather when Sherlock is probably no longer able to catalog... John wishes there was some spot on Sherlock’s body that he could touch with his lips, some word he could utter, or even a predictable length of time that it takes Sherlock to unwind. John can’t tell when, or how it will happen, he can only react when Sherlock goes boneless under him, when the sounds that escape Sherlock’s lips go from merely interested to needy.

It has already happened when Greg comes home, somewhere between John working his hand into Sherlock’s trousers and under his pants and Sherlock cupping the back of John’s head and tilting his head _just so_.

**  
  
**

The first thing Greg sees when he swings open the door is the position of his chair. Then his boys and the show they are putting on for him. He lets himself stand by the door for a moment, appreciating the thoughtful work of his lovers, then he toes off his shoes, swings the door shut softly behind him and turns the lock, then tosses his jacket over the arm of John’s chair. Greg doesn’t particularly want a glass of scotch, but feels like it would nicely round out the picture.   

He smirks a bit to himself before settling in his chair to watch his boys as they work themselves into a mess of desperation. They’d been relatively quiet up until Greg arrived, but Sherlock lets out a low moan just as Greg settles in his chair. John has his face buried in the curve of Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock’s head thrown back and his legs splayed, giving Greg a fair view of John’s hand as it disappears into the open vee of Sherlock’s fly. Greg knows approximately the motion of John’s hand that has created that sound in Sherlock. John’s had a similar effect on Greg before, and Greg’s cock twitches in sympathy.

They aren’t making that much noise - John’s generally quiet, Sherlock’s mouth is too busy sucking a bruise on John’s neck. Greg can hear that John is speaking, but not the content of his words, John’s head bent to Sherlock’s ear.

Whatever John suggests causes Sherlock to pull away and look, vaguely aghast (his “dear god why didn’t I think of that face”) at John, before flicking his eyes over to Greg for the briefest moment.

Greg thinks Sherlock looks a little panicked, the edge of excitement in his eyes pushing at the limits of fear. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes cut to Greg, lock onto him with a level of intensity and desire… but he calms visibly, breathing in deep through his nose and shifting his hips slightly against John’s hand. “Green... I promise.”  

John untangles himself from Sherlock, prompting Sherlock to cut his eyes back to John and make a disgruntled sound deep in his chest.

“There’s not enough room here, c’mon.” John pushes himself up off the sofa and offers his hands to Sherlock to pull him up.

Greg leans back in his chair to admire the mussed, wrinkled and very nearly fully debauched Sherlock rising off the sofa and moving around the coffee table towards him.

They stop in the middle of the floor, in the zone usually reserved for Sherlock’s maniac pacing and hence relatively clear of the detritus that accumulates around Sherlock constantly.

John runs his fingers up the length of Sherlock’s body, pulling him close and teasing him until Sherlock bends his head for a kiss. Once John catches his lips, he starts working on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. He works them open one at a time and makes a show of exposing Sherlock’s skin and eventually breaking the kiss to mouth his way down to Sherlock’s nipple.

Sherlock’s never entirely sure what to do with his hands while John does this, so he settles on sort of vaguely petting John; running his hands over John’s back and neck, sliding his hands through John’s hair, which is longer than it looks but still too short for Sherlock to grip, to pull, to demand that John move where Sherlock wants him to be.

John chuckles against Sherlock’s skin, runs his hands up over Sherlock’s shoulders and down his back, peeling away his shirt and tossing it onto the sofa. They've decided that Sherlock is beautiful when he’s impatient, when he’s demanding because he wants badly, when he _needs_. Especially when he needs them.

Sherlock pushes at his trousers, forcing them down over his thighs until they fall to the floor and he kicks them away under the coffee table.

John pulls him close, scratches down his back with the blunted edges of his fingernails, hard enough to leave trails of pink on Sherlock’s skin. Greg tilts his head slightly to appreciate the view, the way Sherlock shivers under John’s hands and the gooseflesh that covers him, making his nipples tight and his cock jump inside his pants.

John steps back, pops open the buttons on his cuffs, crosses his arms and pulls his shirt and jumper over his head in one motion, flinging them aside and aiming generally towards the sofa; his trousers are undone and sliding off before his jumper has time to hit the sofa. John kicks the whole mess under the table with Sherlock’s kit and pulls Sherlock back to him. John leans up and Sherlock bends down and they manage to press most of their bodies together, and once John is naked Sherlock’s hands seem to know what to do, holding him close, cupping his arse and pulling him closer and then closer again.

John moans as his cock slides along Sherlock’s thigh, slides his hand down Sherlock’s side and cups his cock through his pants. “Yeah... ?”

Sherlock looks down at the floor, looks like he’s measuring John for a moment. “On my side or back?”

“Side.” John watches as Sherlock shucks his pants and turns on the spot for a minute before settling on the floor with his back to Greg. He smiles as Greg raises an eyebrow, winks as he kneels in front of Sherlock.

There’s a moment of awkward maneuvering until they manage to align their bodies. Sherlock has to bend and prop his head up on his arm to get John’s cock into his mouth, needs to use his free hand to hold John’s cock away from his body. If they do this for too long John will get a crick in his neck; for now the angle means that Sherlock’s cock slides smooth and easy into his mouth. John pushes Sherlock’s leg up to form a triangle and wraps his arms around his waist to give himself leverage.

Greg makes an appreciative noise and leans forward, eyes coasting over his lovers. John’s eyes fall closed and he swallows Sherlock down.

Sherlock’s mouth goes slack and John’s cock falls out as Sherlock’s hips stutter in the sudden wet heat of John’s mouth, he turns his head and buries his face in John’s thigh. “ _John_.”

John pulls back, licks at the head of Sherlock’s cock and takes him slowly back into his mouth; slow and gentle pressure, long draws down the full length of Sherlock’s cock. It is the sort of blowjob that Greg knows, from experience, that John will happily give for ages.

John makes a contented noise when Sherlock turns his head back, wraps his fingers around the base of John’s cock, slides it between his lips. Sherlock’s head bobs, working the top third of John’s cock desperately. Sherlock’s breathing, fast and desperate whistles through his nose, is the loudest sound in the room.

Greg leans forward, spreading his legs and clasping his hands in front of him. He watches the sheen of sweat that appears on John’s hip, the micro twitches as John fights against the urge to start pushing into Sherlock’s mouth, watches as Sherlock’s face reddens with the effort. He’s trying so hard, his mouth stretched tight around John’s cock. He’s making progress - John’s cock shines with his spit, but everytime he pushes himself forward just a bit too far he chokes and coughs, has to pull back and start again.

John’s too far gone (not so far that he would forget himself and push into Sherlock’s mouth) but far enough… the texture of Sherlock’s cock in his mouth filling him with pleasure. He’d thought about sucking Sherlock off often enough _before_ , that actually doing it now… that Sherlock will actually allow it, that he _wants_ John to do this, he’s not going to waste this chance by coming in Sherlock’s mouth… not yet anyway. John hums around Sherlock’s cock, swept away in giving Sherlock pleasure.

Greg slides out of his chair, kneels on the floor behind Sherlock’s head, tucking his feet up under him. He brushes a lock of Sherlock’s hair from his temple. “Shhh, Sherlock… it’s okay.”

He runs his hand over the back of Sherlock’s head, props the other man’s head up and rests his arm against his calf. “You are doing so well. So well. Let me help you, there… that’s better… Just like that… slowly, breathe and swallow.” Greg holds Sherlock’s head, coaxes him to take more and more of John’s cock into his mouth, watching for signs of distress, until Sherlock relaxes, his head suddenly heavy in Greg’s hand - his eyes close and he’s given himself over to Greg.

“Good, ah, yes there you go… so good.” He uses his free hand to pull John’s hips closer to Sherlock’s mouth, gently sliding the last of John’s cock down Sherlock’s throat. He curls down around Sherlock, holding them both close. “Oh… Sherlock. God, such a good boy, there you’ve done it…” He pushes against John’s hip, sliding his cock out of Sherlock’s mouth until he’s just holding the tip, then pulls John back towards them, watching the slick slide through Sherlock’s lips. He rocks Sherlock’s head up to meet John’s hips when he gets to the root, making sure Sherlock can feel the thick base of John’s cock against his mouth. “Good boy, Sherlock… god… so good for John.”

Sherlock convulses, and Greg pulls them apart quickly, a brief flash of fear that he’s gone too far, but once Sherlock’s airway is clear, his mouth goes slack and he moans around John’s cock.

Greg turns his head and watches as Sherlock’s hips buck against John’s mouth, watches John work Sherlock hard with his mouth and fist to milk the last of Sherlock’s orgasm. Greg slides his hand down Sherlock’s body and cups his arse. “Lovely, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sucks and laps at John’s cock, his nerves buzzing with pleasure and warmth.  “Mmm… Thank you for your help.”  He nuzzles against Greg's thigh, the warmth of his post orgasmic high being replaced by the shiver of excitement that being caught between his lovers always brings. "I could… practice?"

Greg squeezes Sherlock's arse again before turning his attention to John. Watches John slowly relinquish Sherlock's cock, smiles at the sharp intake of breath from Sherlock in his lap, the way Sherlock's eyes close and his head turns back to John, mouth wrapping around John's cock and taking long, eager draws down the full length of John's cock.

When John’s hips buck into his mouth, Sherlock hums and pushes himself up off Greg’s lap to take more.

John lets Sherlock’s cock slide from his mouth and buries his face in the crease of Sherlock’s groin. “ _Fuck_ , you taste so _good_.”

Greg can’t see what John is doing from this angle but Sherlock’s reaction is to redouble his efforts.

John makes a frustrated noise, pushes Sherlock’s leg up until his foot is flat on the floor and tries to squirm lower, to pull Sherlock closer to him as John nuzzles and sucks at the sensitive skin below Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock’s mouth comes off John’s cock in a gasp. “Oh… _fuck… John_.”

The sound John makes is triumphant and he squirms lower, pulling himself away from Sherlock’s mouth and burying his face between Sherlock’s legs.

Sherlock turns in Greg’s lap, pressing his face against the hardness of Greg’s cock in his trousers. Greg considers for a moment, thinks about opening his trousers and feeding his aching cock into Sherlock’s mouth… his grip tightens on the back of Sherlock’s head and he presses Sherlock tight against him. His breath is hot and ragged even through the layer of Greg’s clothing, and the sounds that John is pulling from him change, become more desperate and very nearly sound like begging. “ _...please… please… please John… please… more… Greg… make him…_ ”

“How many fingers, Sherlock?”

Sherlock turns his face back, opens his eyes and looks up at Greg, concentration making a small crease between his eyebrows. “Three… please… god… _oh_ … I think.”

Greg smoothes Sherlock’s hair back from his face, brushing sweat soaked curls off his forehead. “John?”

John grunts his agreement, not bothering to come up for air.

Sherlock turns his head slightly and catches Greg’s fingers in his mouth, sucking them and running his tongue over the pads.

Greg’s free hand flails out behind him. He’d seen the lube on the side table and had moved it onto the chair, trapping it between his knee and the arm of the chair, reasoning that he might warm it somewhat. The bottle is cold when he finds it now, but he doesn’t think it matters. “John.” He drops the bottle next to Sherlock’s hip, within easy reach for John. “John, fuck Sherlock open for me… get him wet and ready for me.”

“Fuck, _Greg_!” John kisses the inner crease of Sherlock’s leg, looks up.

Sherlock’s still sucking on Greg’s fingers, but he meets John’s gaze, eyes half-lidded and lazy with pleasure. Sherlock’s stomach contracts as he rolls his hips up, demanding more from John.

John’s eyes drop to Sherlock’s hole and Greg moans. He wants to see but his legs are trapped under Sherlock’s head and his fingers are still in Sherlock’s mouth and honestly he does know what John’s fingers look like stretching Sherlock open. He knows that John has his first three fingers pushed in as far as they will go, knows that John is using his anatomy lessons to their best possible outcome and that Sherlock is wet and glistening with John’s spit. Greg knows all of that but he still wants to see.

John lifts Sherlock’s leg up, and Greg catches hold of it. He holds Sherlock open while John pulls his hand free and grabs the lube, while John rubs lube over his cock. Sherlock sucks hard on Greg’s fingers as John presses into him, breath high and rapid through his nose. Greg lets Sherlock’s leg fall back onto John’s shoulder and looks down at his lover.

“That’s it… good boy, doing so well to take him. I know… he’s big, but you can take it… and once you are all nice and wet I want you to sit on my cock, yeah? Can you do that for me? You are being so good right now for John, it’s making me so hard for you...”

John bottoms out inside Sherlock, pushing slowly until he’s fully seated inside Sherlock and then folding Sherlock in half and pushing deeper still. Sherlock bends and arches under him, trying to force John to fuck him harder, deeper, trying to goad John into pulling out and pushing back in again.

“God, Sherlock. I need…” John says it into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock’s hand comes up to hold the back of John’s head, and Greg’s hand meets his, entwining their fingers.

“Please, please John. I want it, oh… god… I _need_ it…” Sherlock’s voice is rough and he presses slow kisses to John’s ear, to his hairline. “Please…”

Greg watches John’s hips and arse as he fucks into Sherlock, sees when Sherlock’s toes curl in on themselves, and feels the tremble that runs through both of them when John comes, buried deep in Sherlock.

“Fuck… fuck… Sherlock… fuck!” John’s back arches and he thrusts three more times, sharp and quick, into Sherlock.

John buries his face in Sherlock’s chest, heaves in air and curses out the last of his orgasm. Sherlock squirms until he’s no longer folded in half and his legs fall to a more comfortable angle.

Greg contents himself with stroking the exposed skin of his lovers, in making John shiver so that he pushes into Sherlock and Sherlock arches his back. “That’s lovely, such good boys, gorgeous for me.”

Sherlock looks affronted, stretches and pushes himself into Greg’s lap. “Don’t get all… sentimental.” He nudges at Greg’s cock with his mouth, the pressure making Greg twitch even harder. “I’m wet… as you requested.”

“In the chair though, my legs are asleep.”

John disentangles himself from Sherlock, the two of them purring in unison as John pulls free. He climbs off Sherlock and helps Greg to his feet and out of his trousers and pants as well, not bothering with taking them all the way off, just letting them pool around Greg’s ankles. The lube rolled away under John’s chair at some point, so John retrieves it and slicks up Greg’s cock. Sherlock stays on the floor until the last possible moment, stroking his cock and watching John prepare Greg.

When he climbs into Greg’s lap, he sits with his back pressed against Greg’s chest and leans forward to take Greg into him, folding himself practically in half so that Greg can see the slide of his cock into Sherlock’s hole. John kneels in front of them to give Sherlock something to brace against as he lifts himself up on Greg’s cock and fucks himself.

“Ah! Yeah, Sherlock… like that, Jesus, look at you!” Greg plants one hand on Sherlock’s arse and pulls him farther open, the other on the small of his back to hold Sherlock at the angle he wants.

Sherlock’s hole flutters and clenches around his cock. Greg changes his grip on Sherlock’s hips, pulling him down fast and hard. “C’mere.” Greg pulls Sherlock back and drapes him over his chest, changing position again and his pace, widening his stance to slide long and slow into Sherlock.

Sherlock’s cock is hard against his stomach, and when Greg presses a kiss against the side of his mouth, a bead of precome forms at the tip. “Can you make yourself come for me again?”

“You are… close, I… need.”

“Touch him for me John… make him come… god I’m close, wanna see him.”

John’s hands are slick when they touch Sherlock, pulling back his foreskin and tugging gently but insistently at his shaft. His other hand slides between their legs, over Sherlock’s balls and down to stroke Greg’s as well. Sherlock’s second orgasm paints his chest with come almost immediately. John’s hand slides down and cups Greg’s balls, fingertips pressing and rubbing circles behind them, and then both of them are coming and calling John’s name.

Greg skates his finger over Sherlock’s nipple, cleaning off a splatter of come. He raises the finger to his lips and sucks the evidence off. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and he cranes his neck to kiss Greg’s lips.

Then Sherlock pulls back and looks Greg in the eyes. “It was the mother-in-law, wasn’t it?”

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Consulting Smartass is the best beta that anyone could ever ask for. Bakerstrade is my favourite thing, and apparently I've got a thing for people coming home and joining in the fun. She made this much better. Lots and lots of things make perfect sense in my head but don't translate so well into the written document.
> 
> The general idea of my writing plan right now is to write one of either Rubble or Darkest of years on alternating weeks with some lighter smut so as to keep my brain happy. Rubble and Darkest having similar power dynamics but in opposite characters is making my brain hurt. so we'll try it this way. Also week maybe overly optimistic. There's still quite a lot of real life stuff going on that keeps me away from the computer.


End file.
